


Rotten Luck

by finefeatheredfriend



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Light Smut, M/M, Outdoor Sex, PWP, Reader gets robbed, discord request, period-typical homophobia mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24880333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend
Summary: You've had some really rotten luck, and it only gets worse when an outlaw tries to rob you. If only you had something to offer him other than money...
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Male!Reader, Arthur Morgan/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 79





	Rotten Luck

It was rotten luck, really. You had escaped the back alley poker game with barely more than the shirt on your back, plus you'd lost your best saddle, having to trade it instead for a stiff thing with a hard tree beneath dingy gray leather. Your ass was sore from riding in it already and you'd barely been on the road for longer than a couple of hours and now, just to add insult to injury, your horse had thrown a shoe, forcing you to get down and lead it instead of riding. You plodded along, thanking your lucky stars that it was an overcast day. Sweltering sun would be the last straw.

Distantly, you heard another horse nicker and your heart soared. Perhaps a stranger could help you with your predicament. As you approached a stand of massive oak trees, a tall, broad man stepped out, his gun already drawn.

Shit. More rotten luck.

"This is a robb'ry, mister," he informed you in a soft but gravelly voice full of authority and, having not much else to lose, you spared yourself a moment to take in your adversary's appearance. He was tall, much taller than the average man and you had to tilt your head up slightly to meet his eye with a level glare, though your heart was thundering with terror. His own eyes were a crystal ocean blue and even with his broad hat shading them, you could tell they were bright and clever. His hair was a soft golden brown and his jaw was sharp. A long, vaguely aquiline nose jutted down from between caterpillar brows over lips that were pink and plump. He flicked the tip of his tongue over the lower lip in an impatient, nervous gesture. Despite the fact that he had you at gunpoint, your assessment of him could be summed up in three words - he was handsome. Very handsome. "Ain't got all day, hand over yer wallet and any other valuables."

"Mister, I think your luck's about as rotten as mine," you told him in a voice that was shaking with fear. "I haven't got a thing on me. Lost it all in a game of poker," you admitted sheepishly.

"That so?" he challenged, stepping forward and clamping a hand roughly on your shoulder so he could spin you around. It sent a shiver of pleasure through you despite the haze of terror that threatened to shake you apart. You couldn't remember the last time another man had touched you and it sent a kind of desperate yearning straight through you, settling somewhere between your legs, much to your embarrassment. "Get yer hands in the air," he snapped, his fingers running along your side and down your jeans, prodding within your boots before coming up to search your belt line for weapons and bumping against...

His gaze flickered with surprise and you thought for sure you were dead now, your face flushing crimson. Most folk didn't take too kindly to your type in these parts. "Well now," he nearly purred, the expression on his face slipping into a nearly seductive gaze. You trembled slightly, unsure if his change in demeanor was a trap, not wanting to die, and at the same time a little horny voice in the back of your mind chanting that you wanted this handsome stranger for reasons you couldn't hope to explain.

"I ain't...I ain't got nothin' to give you, mister. Please don't shoot me. Take the nag if you have to, but she done threw a shoe and ain't worth nothin'. Look, I, I'll just be on my way, just please..." There it was, that unspoken plea that he not tell anyone, that he not share far and wide what you were and what you wanted, a hanging offense in most places, but instead he shoved his gun into its holster and put his hands on his hips, a contemplative look crossing his fine features.

"Reckon..." He cleared his throat a little nervously, his hips doing an odd shudder as though his pants were getting too tight and you saw that, indeed, they were. "Reckon money ain't everything." A bit of your courage returning, you forced a smile.

"Suppose I could offer you something else instead of money?" you suggested and he nodded slightly, his eyes running over your form appreciatively. He knew you were unarmed, at his mercy, but still, he was gentle when he asked,

"What'd you have in mind, partner?" You blew out a massive breath of relief, seeing that he really was interested in what you had on offer. You lowered your hands from above your head with a glance at him to determine that you had permission to do so and you rested your fingers on your belt, cocking your head to one side.

"Well, mister, that depends. You give me a ride to the nearest town thataway and I reckon you'd see a good deal more gratitude than I'd otherwise...offer," you told him, allowing for a suggestive pause. He raised a brow, scratching his chin.

"Just to the nearest town?" he asked, considering.

"Yes, sir. Give me a ride and you can do just about anything you want," you promised, meaning it. He was handsome, and, as it turned out, not entirely a heartless criminal. He stomped closer to you, raising a big hand to take your jaw. You flinched slightly and he chuckled.

"I ain't gonna hurt ya, partner. Bit hard up for cash, but I don't go around killin' folk just for the fun of it. Been a while since...since a fella..."

"Yeah, me too," you admitted, reaching out a hand gingerly to touch his side. There was firm muscle beneath the blue cotton shirt he was wearing and he leaned into the touch slightly, his eyes half-closing as your hand roamed down and around to grasp at the back of his pants. You slid it back around to cup the half-masted length in his jeans and he swallowed a moan before his eyes snapped open and he grabbed your shoulder again, tugging you forward.

"Come here," he demanded, pulling you into the thick wooded area where you could not be seen from the road. Your heart was still thundering with fear. What if he did kill you after all? What if... All the "what ifs" vanished from your mind as he sunk his fingers into your hair and kissed you roughly, a hand going your jeans to unbutton them. Gasping for breath, you helped him, tugging away your jeans and shoving your underwear out of the way as he slid a hand over you.

You shoved his suspenders off his shoulders and tugged his pants down his hips, going to your knees and engulfing him in your mouth with a quiet moan. He hissed and his hand fisted in your hair as you moved, your nose buried in soft golden curls that smelled like lavender soap.

"Shhit," he hissed, his hips bucking and he couldn't take it anymore. He pulled away and pushed you down onto the ground, soft with fallen leaves. Face to face, he pressed his length against your own and clenched you both in a fist, bucking his hips against yours and stroking with professional timing that suggested to you that he was experienced, though the soft, desperate noises spilling from him suggested that it had been too long since he had last had this opportunity.

You moved together in the warmth of the late morning, sunlight dappling your flesh as more clothing was torn from your bodies. Circumstances aside, you were just two men desperate for closeness, for comfort, for touch and you found your fear transformed into an aching need, your legs clamping around his waist, his fingers brushing over your chest, the two of you moving over and within one another, panting, cursing and fighting for dominance in the privacy of the woods.

When at last the both of you were spent, you laid side by side, your ribs rising and falling together. His arm was cast across your belly and your ribs were touching his. One of your calves was slung over his thigh. He reached for his satchel and lit a cigarette, offering you a drag before he spoke.

"Thanks, partner," he finally said, amusement in his tone.

"Well, it ain't money."

"No, it is not," he agreed with a chuckle.

"You still gonna give me that ride into town?" you challenged. He turned and fixed you with those piercing eyes of his.

"I'm a man of my word, mister." You snorted.

"I don't even know your name." He rolled his eyes and snuffed the cigarette out, holding out his right hand for you to take.

"Arthur. Arthur Morgan."

"Good meetin' you, Arthur." You told him your name and after another minute or so of lazy contemplation, you stood and wiped yourself off before getting dressed. True to his word, Arthur let you climb onto the back of his horse and started off, your own following at a slow, limping trot. When you reached the next town, you found yourself oddly sad to be leaving your attempted robber. He tipped his hat to you, his eyes twinkling.

"Maybe I'll rob you again sometime, friend." You grinned.

"Maybe. Guess it weren't such rotten luck after all."


End file.
